


More

by Loveforthestory



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anger, Chemistry, Loathing, Love, Lust, Sexual Content, Want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveforthestory/pseuds/Loveforthestory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She immediately recognizes the wide shoulders. The deep blonde curls. The strong lines of his neck. The control and charm. The cool steel of his eyes and the uniform that makes him look even taller. He has kept the scruff, but his leather jacket is gone.<br/>She refuses to give into the sensations rushing through her body. She can’t allow herself one moment of weakness. Not here.  Not when his eyes meet hers again after such a long time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here

She is standing in the middle of an ocean of uniforms, the scent of cigars and whiskey and smiling wives who won't let their husbands out of their sight every time they think she gets too close.

The late afternoon flows through the bar Blanchard likes to use for his parties when he is in town. The war is slowing down. The whole continent is slowly getting back on its feet.

She is here because Miles had to be here. Her first reaction when Miles had asked her to be here had been short. The _no_ had been there together with the _are you freaking kidding me_ in the blue of her Matheson glare.

But then he had told her about all the whiskey that would be there. And she had told herself that maybe things would not be so bad.

She was wrong.

Being General Matheson's niece means that everybody wants to have a piece of her today. Charlie is talking to a couple of high ranking officers whose names she can't remember because she doesn't give a shit about them.

Fifteen long minutes ago she became part of a circle of boring uniforms and endless lifeless conversation. She's listening to an asshole who cannot shut up about a poker game he had won last week. Miles is standing across the room and next to the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a woman she doesn't know close.

She knows the truth. She knows his life before her will always be there. She knows a part of him is and will be that General. Two summers ago their war against the kaki threat had started. Miles had been a General again before fall had been over.

She knew Miles would be unable to walk away from this fight until it was over. She had felt the same. She had just nodded her silent approval when he stood before her on that cold autumn morning. His eyes had been filled with asking her to understand why he needed to do this. His necklace had reflected some of the early morning sun when she had watched how much her understanding him had meant to him.

But she can still see the man behind the dark eyes and the uniform he is wearing again. It is one of the reasons she fought and still fights so hard for him. And she knows her being a part of his life keeps some of his demons away. He does the same for her.

She reminds herself that there is not enough whiskey in the world to get through one of Blanchard's parties if Miles dares to ask her again. Next time she is staying at home, in her jeans and tank and with a bottle of something good to drink on her porch of the small house she is renting just outside Willoughby.

She watches how Miles grins when a brunette smiles at him. She makes a silent promise he won't be grinning after this party because she _will_ get her revenge.

She hides her irritation under a cool smile when the guy on her left who introduced himself as John, starts talking to her. She is about to answer another question that she doesn't want to answer but the words just die before they come out.

It feels like a cold winter breeze joins her next heartbeat. Because there he is. Her body and mind, and treacherous heart, immediately recognize the wide shoulders in the crowded space around her. The deep blonde curls. The strong lines of his neck. The control and charm. The cool steel of his eyes and the uniform that makes him look even taller. He has kept the scruff, but his leather jacket is gone.

Her whole body is ready to fight and escape. There is nothing left to feel and think about but him and his tall presence so close. She is almost trembling but she refuses to give into the sensations rushing through her body. She can't allow herself a moment of weakness. Not here. Not when his eyes meet hers again after such a long time.

And she is back. Her heart and mind make her return to all those places that made them who they were, a long time ago.

She is standing in front of him on a path in the woods, close enough to take in his sweat and to see the bruises on his face, telling him he is delusional while she is looking at the changes in his eyes she does not want to see. She is hearing the faint sound of rain again, near a fireplace while she is waking up.

She can see his eyes again, looking at her from within a cage he is sitting in, the afternoon on the day she will save his life. She can smell his leather jacket. She can hear the sounds of bullets under the cover of darkness. And his eyes, always there.

She can't see Miles anymore. The voices around her are meaningless. And when she is sure her heart cannot get any heavier, John sees _him_ and gestures for him to join their small circle.

All her heart screams is no and yes at the same time.

She can see a small shift in his jaws when he closes the distance from where he was standing to her. To _them_ , she reminds herself. He is not here for her. The rhythm of his boots on the wooden floor is certain and in control. Admiring stares follow him while he walks across the room like he owns the damn thing.

And then she is standing in front of General Monroe again.

'Monroe, good to see you.' The rest of John's words fade because all she sees is him. The way he looks at her overpowers everything else. '...Introductions...' He starts his round of names. 'This is my wife, Susana...and you know Jim.' The seconds flow away until he reaches her. 'And this is...' John continues but Bass stops him.

'Charlotte Matheson.' His voice is too deep, too personal and too low.

Her heart aches and rebels against the way she hears her name again. Her chest fills with the sound of his voice that brings back too much.

Bass' eyes fill with steel focus when he looks straight at her. 'We've met.'

She doesn't know what pisses her off even more. The formal way he is greeting her with cool eyes and a stiff nod of his head or all the ways her heart recognizes the warmth in his eyes and voice he hides so well for the rest of the world.

'You know each other?' One of the women on her right wants to know, looking from John to Bass.

For one long hopeful and dangerous second Charlie thinks the other woman is talking about her, but she doesn't seem to matter now Bass has joined their group.

John eagerly answers that question. His voice is laced with proud smugness. 'Yes, once in Philadelphia. You and Matheson always managed to find the best whiskey of the whole damn continent. You still have to tell me what your secret is Monroe.'

She watches how an effortless grin appears on Bass' face. Her heart is beating faster and at the same time her lungs still scream for oxygen.

Time moves on without her and she tells herself to breathe. The men want to know if he enjoys Austin. The women just want to know everything.

And finally, when the grip of frozen time lets her go, her mind is able to hear the voices around her again. His eyes keep on locking with hers in such an intense way that he almost won't let her go and she has to fight him, and herself and everything she sees in his eyes.

And she is standing there, in the middle of a conversation that feels so surreal she is aching for fresh air and something more solid under her feet.

The woman compete for his attention, forgetting about their husbands. But he ignores them. All of them. Bass doesn't even look at them. He just looks at her.

'Can I get you another refreshment, ma'm?' A young man with a polite smile and a tray filled with glasses of cool cider in his hand suddenly moves her attention away from Bass.

'Some whiskey would be good.' She doesn't blink when she looks straight at him and his tray of cider.

The ladies around her thinks she is joking and start to giggle. When the young man realizes she isn't, an uncomfortable smile appears on his face.

When Charlie's eyes meet Bass' eyes she notices the familiar way at which his blue eyes light up at her answer. It drags her back to more places she doesn't want to return to. _Philly. An empty swimming pool._

'Right away.' The man mutters with a quick nod.

'Will your husband join us tonight?' Susana asks with a polite smile when she looks at Charlie.

It is the way tension suddenly moves through Bass' jaws that gives away how much he needs to hear the answer to that question. Charlie curses at herself for noticing it.

'No husband.' She answers the personal question with a firm tone.

'And how old are you, honey?' The voice from another woman with deep eyes in a long lush dress is filled with haughty disapproval.

'25. ' She answers her too but all she wants to do is shut this bitch up.

Lucky for her, the men in the circle decide that poker is more important and they quickly change the subject.

She almost drowns in Bass' eyes again when her eyes find his. She stops herself just in time from licking her bottom lip in a nervous gesture. She tells herself to not give in. To breathe. Just like she would do in a fight.

Standing here is raw torture. But nobody else seems to notice. He does. Of course he does.

'Ladies...' Bass nods to the women in the group before he nods shortly at the other men, ' if you will excuse me... there is some business I need to take care of.'

'You haven't changed a bit, Monroe.' John raises his drink to salute him.

One steel nod towards her is all that she gets from him before he turns his back to her. The wall of blue eyes and what once was her and him in front of her disappears.

His uniform follows the line of his wide back and chest. His curls brush the nape of his neck. And just like that, he disappears into the crowd again.

And suddenly, her heart aches with the memory of the last time she saw him. She remembers her bedroom in the shadows of another morning on its way and with him there.

She thinks about the last time they had talked and the memory of the taste of her tears on her lips haunt her. And she has to watch how he walks away from her.

Again.

* * *

**Author's Note** I have been planning this story for a very long time and it is such a great feeling to share this first chapter with all of you today. Your thoughts and feedback are always welcome and your reviews and messages always mean the world to me! I want to thank threemagpies for her feedback for this chapter. Love from Love


	2. Close

He sees her before she is aware of him. And she's even more _her_ than he remembers. A strong adrenaline filled heartbeat of recognition spreads through his chest.

Bass expected Miles to be here. But he never expected to see her here in the middle of whiskey and politics.

He knows Miles is standing at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a woman standing next to him. A bitter grin flashes across his face before he puts a glass of whiskey to his lips. Miles can bitch about how he has changed all he wants, but seeing his brother like this tells him that some things never change. He is ignoring him and Miles is doing the same. He knows his brother.

Nothing is what it was between them. Blanchard had offered them both a change to fight this war with Texas. They had both accepted Blanchard's offer to destroy the kaki threat that almost took over half the continent. But they had both chosen a life away from the other. There were just too much shared demons of a Republic gone to hell.

Bass had accepted his new position in Texas' army with an eager hunger for revenge and thirst for every fight ahead. He had built a life in Austin after leaving Willoughby behind him. He had stayed there for a long time, hoping his kid would return. He never did.

The uniform and the rank are a shallow cover to keep everything out that is too fucking much to feel. But they barely keep all the pain out. He lives his life with the empty hope Connor will find his way back to him.

The months since he had left his kid behind in a shed with the broken hope Connor would come back with him and understand what his promise to Miles had meant to him, have turned into more than two years.

And now, he is here. Standing in a fucking bar in Austin and with her so damn close.

She is wearing a long black dress. The light fabric follows her body, caressing her breasts and hips. Her high heels accentuate the strong, slender lines of her body.

She unlocks things inside of him again he can't fucking feel right now. Fuck, he should have stayed in his damn office with a bottle of whiskey on his desk.

He tells himself to get a grip. But he keeps on finding her across the room. He's so aware of her he can almost taste her.

He remembers what she did for him. The way she had fought for him. The way she had fought him. The way she would still follow him into hell and battle. The way she had let him have her back.

He remembers her mouth. Her lips. The way she would find him in her sleep. The way he had let her and wanted her there even though it had hurt. He remembers realizing how much her warmth curled up against his body had meant.

She is talking to some asshole he thinks he remembers meeting once in Philly. And although he has no right to feel the way he does, he just wants to break his fucking neck because of the way he is looking at her.

Hot irritation starts to rise inside his blood. Anger is next , anger for the way the son of a bitch is thinking he actually can impress Charlie Matheson. The asshole doesn't even see it, but he can see the Matheson mocking blue in her eyes even from where he is standing while she is listening to him.

And finally, the weight of his stare brings her back to him. She finally sees him and she is killing him with those eyes of hers when her eyes connect with his.

The asshole she is talking to follows her stare and sees him too and gestures for him to join them. A deep curse spreads through his mind with sharp edges that add more tension to his muscles. With every step he takes towards her, because the rest doesn't matter now, he can see everything that happens in her eyes. And then, she is standing so close he can almost touch her.

He has to listen to a guy named John he should remember from years and a lifetime ago in Philly but he can't. He ignores the eager smiles from the women in the group.

The conversation around him continues but he doesn't give a fuck. Not when she is so close again. Blanchard and his stupid party can go to hell.

He wants it to be him and her far away from all this bullshit. To feel her stare deep inside his chest and shooting straight to his dick, the way only she can. He wants her anger, her loyalty and her strength. He wants her for himself. But he knows he can't.

So he is who everybody expects him to be. One of Blanchard's Generals. He talks about politics, Austin and poker.

'Can I get you another refreshment, ma'm?' A kid with a tray filled with drinks yanks her attention away from him.

'Some whiskey would be good.' Her voice contains her usual don't fuck with me warning.

His eyes light up. Because there she is. All of her. _Charlotte_. Bass looks straight at the poor kid with the tray in his hands. And he swears he can actually see a tremble in the kid's hands. He bites back a grin that should not be there.

When one of the women on his left asks her if there is a man in her life, his chest tightens with craving to hear that answer. Her eyes find his when she answers that there is nobody in her life right now.

When another bitch asks her about her age in an insulting way, he can see the death threat in Charlie's eyes. And he is back in a tent in New Vegas. And he can see her again, standing in front of Duncan with a gun in her hand and a focused Matheson strength in her eyes.

Fuck, he missed her.

He tries to focus on the conversation but all he can hear and see is her. He stands there until the raw pain in her eyes almost brings him to his fucking knees and he excuses himself.

Her eyes are there for him to meet when he finally has the balls to look at her one more time. He expects deadly anger in her eyes. He expects loathing in new ways that have never been there. He expects to find the cold truth in there, telling him she doesn't care about him anymore. Because he knows it is fucked up, but he is sure that one some level, she did care about him.

But he never expected what he finds in her eyes. It's so fucking real that he almost has to look away. He tries to swallow it all away. Because he can barely look at everything that is written in her eyes.

He could have handled the death stare and the loathing. But this, her, and the subtle things that are hidden in her eyes and there only for him to notice, it is fucking killing him.

So a stiff nod is all he can give her before he walk away. The tension in his jaws rises so much it hurts. His fingers ache for the feeling of a cool, full glass of whiskey when he has to leave her. Again.

He curses at accepting Blanchard's invitation today. Because he remembers. All of her. All of what she meant to him and everything she should not have become to him. Everything she gave to him.

He remembers that one morning, where he had destroyed everything he could have had with her. He remembers the hollow sound of the rhythm of his boots on her porch when he had walked outside, after he had left her in her bedroom close to the bed they had shared. It had been early as hell. The sky had filled with the deep dark grey of sunrise on its way. He had felt sick to his fucking stomach.

He had been so fucking sure that whatever had been there between them, would not survive. So he had killed it, killed it before it had a chance to become more. He was so fucking sure he had pushed her away for good.

But he was wrong. Because her eyes and everything he sees in there bring her back _to him_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reviews and kudos for chapter one.They mean so much to me! A thank you to Threemagpies for her feedback. I am working on chapter three but I am also working on a fun one shot as a goodbye to summer now autumn is getting closer. I am going to publish that one next week! Love from Love


	3. Then

Every step he takes, _away from her_ , is torture. He really thought his new life here in Austin, filled with war, whiskey and women had drowned everything he had ever felt for her. He feels familiar hurt covered in deep irritation building up inside of him.

He has almost reached the bar. When another asshole walks over to him to ask him more questions about things he really doesn't give a shit about, he almost grabs his shirt to tell him to get the hell out of his way. He knows he can't. Not here.

So he ignores Miles and orders another drink. He tries to focus on his whiskey, but even without looking at her, he can feel her eyes burning behind his back. He tries to push the memories away. But he remembers waking up with her wrapped against his chest before everything went to hell.

* * *

With every new heartbeat and with every step he takes away from her, everything around her slows down. Every step he takes away from her, brings her back to that one morning that is carved into her heart in the same way his _M_ is branded into the skin of her wrist.

She watches how his fingers wrap around the glass of whiskey in his hand. Her eyes move over the strong lines of his body she knows so well, hidden under an uniform that connects their present and their past.

The voices around her fade. The humidity of the room and the scent and the smoke of cigars that fills the bar, disappears. And it is him and her again, in her bedroom on the morning that changed everything between them again.

8 months ago

She is waking up slowly. The room is filled with early morning shadows. It is quiet outside. The cool morning air that flows through one of her bedroom windows finds her wrapped in her sheets.

Her muscles remind her of his chest pressed against her breasts and her legs around his middle. She can still hear his voice close to her ear. He always knows how he can make her let go with his rough whispers. Her lips still burn because of his scruff and the way he claimed her mouth with his, over and over again. He had fucked her with his arms around her, always a heartbeat away from possessive.

It took her a while to get used to the idea of a house of her own to live her life in, instead of waking up under a roof of stars and trees. It took her a while to get used to knowing where she is the moment she opens her eyes. It took her a while to understand that whatever happened between her and Bass, did not end with Texas' war against the Patriots.

They had fought. They had fought against those Patriots. They had fought each other. Until one day, she had seen the same haunted desire in his eyes as she had been fighting. And she had given in. He had given in. And they had fucked. She had been trembling on her feet with unexpected deep rawness when it had been over.

Maybe she should have stopped what was happening between the both of them. But she can't keep him out of her life. He always comes back for more.

In those hours between what is and what will be, when it is dark and quiet outside they keep on find each other. She still thinks he can be an asshole. But her old hate for him is dying. She knows he is not who she thought he was. Her whole world has been filled with new truths and looking at the people close to her in a new way.

She is still fighting her demons. He is still fighting his. She can still see the steel desire to control and to destroy. But she always finds more in the space between his heartbeats and the steel of his eyes. And a part of her knows that as long as she can do that, she can't let go.

She searches for the warmth of his skin next to her. But before she opens her eyes, she can feel the heavy silence pressing in the room. She can sense he is not in her bed. He isn't there, asleep and with her sheets wrapped around his wide thighs.

He is wearing his shirt and pants, sitting on the edge of her bed with an ocean of distance between the both of them. His body is one strong line of steel and tension in the grey morning light.

'Hey…' she tries. She knows about his nightmares. But something inside of her tells her this isn't about his nightmares. 'What's wrong? What happened?'

She knows it is one final attempt to keep new hurt out of her bedroom and heart.

Bass swallows. He has no idea how long he has been sitting here, staring at that damn wall in the dark. He woke up next to her, struggling with his own thoughts. Truth is, he has been struggling for weeks.

After all the fucking mess in Philly she had crashed into his life in New Vegas. She had made the decision to take him back to the life she had left behind her. After the summer where Texas had declared war on the U.S he had stayed in Willoughby. If Connor would come back, he wanted to be there for his kid.

But Connor never came back. When waiting for a son who did not wanted him in his life became too painful, he had accepted Blanchard's offer and he had moved to Austin. But he had been unable to let her go. He came back for her. He had returned to her and her strength. To her porch and a bottle of whiskey. To falling asleep with her body wrapped against his in her bed.

And with every new form of trust between her and him, he had felt more of that dark shadow that is a part of him. He doesn't know how to make her understand. Not without sharing the most impossible days of his life with her. His family leaving _him._ The blackout and all the messed up things he saw in those early days. Him trying to survive with Miles. The first years of a Republic that grew into something it should have never been.

He doesn't know how to tell her he can never be the man for her he once was. And fuck, he doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't want to see her leave him. He knows he can't lose her. He can't lose what she gave him. _What she is still giving him._ If she gets even closer, he knows he won't be able to take it when she walks away.

A part of him wants to tell her. It's pathetic, he knows how damn pathetic it is. What's even more pathetic is that he knows that Charlie is the kind of woman who would listen. Her heart is so fucking strong that it is slowly breaking him.

When her eyes finally finds his, the first wave of self-loathing fills his blood. He moves his hand over his face before he looks at his leather jacket and boots in the corner of the room. Her eyes follow his.

Charlie listens to low painful breath that escapes from his chest. He swallows. And she knows, her heart and mind just know, _right there._ He is going to go.

He finally looks at her, and she can barely breathe because of the change in his eyes.

'What?' You were just going to leave me here?'

 _Fuck._ Her words hurt like a bitch. He forces himself to let the steel in his heart take over.

'Charlie…whatever this is…we both know it is not going to work.' His voice is filled with rough distance.

She doesn't say a word. But he can see the anger build up in her eyes.

'You son of a…'

He looks at the hurt in her eyes that flows through her whole body . Part of his brain tells him to fucking stop hurting her. Because hell, he wants her. But he doesn't want to want her. She should not want him. He has to stop this.

'Charlie...' Deep panic spreads inside his chest. He tells himself to move. To yank her close and press her against his chest. He tells himself to make her understand before he breaks this, _and her_.

'Charlie, please..' He can hear himself beg for understanding he will never get. And it's a cruel trick of his mind that makes him remember the day he begged Connor to come back with him.

'Get the hell out.' Her voice is as sharp as the blade of her knife. The anger inside of her is winning from the hurt. It has to. Because the hurt is too much to carry right now. She can taste the salt of her tears on her lips.

He grabs his jacket and gun. He swallows the bitter raging pain away. He watches her, watching him. She is standing close to the bed they had shared so many times. She is looking at him and he feels all of her so damn close he can't move. But then her eyes tell him to get out one more time.

He feels empty and sick to his fucking stomach when he walks out of her bedroom. The rhythm of his boots on her porch sounds hollow. The sky fills with the deep blue of sunrise on its way. But he doesn't see it. He doesn't feel the cool morning air. All he knows is that he has lost her.

* * *

The sounds of the bar around her pull her back to the present. Her bedroom disappears. Bass standing so close to her and the raw expression in his eyes she still remembers, fades. It has been eight months since that morning. Eight months since she watched him leave. Eight months since their eyes met the way they did just now.

She has moved on. Or maybe she has only been trying to tell herself that. Because even with a room filled with people and whiskey and bullshit stories about poker, he is so close. He is _too_ close. She has to go. She needs to leave her past with him here in this bar in Austin.

Bass knows he should look away. But he can't. He watches her and he knows she is remembering the same morning that is haunting him. He can sense how she slowly comes back to the room. And then she slowly turns her head his way.

Charlie knows she shouldn't put her heart through one more moment of him and her together. But then she looks up one more time and his eyes are waiting for her like they have done so many times before.

And she tries to fight it. But there, in the steel blue of his eyes and in the spaces between her heartbeats, she finds _him_ again.


	4. Them

She should have stayed in her hotel room. But she is a Matheson. Making bad decisions is locked inside her DNA.

She has left her dress and high heels in her hotel room. Her anger needs her boots and leather jacket tonight. It's almost midnight. There is rain in the air. Heavy clouds move over the city while she walks through the almost deserted streets of Austin.

She knows which bar Blanchard and his men prefer to drink their whiskey, smoke their cigars and chase their women after a good party. It's a small bar in the heart of the city. She knows he is probably there.

With every step she takes, she feels more anger build up inside of her. Anger for everything she found in him. Anger for all the times he has been there for her. Anger for the way he had ended things between them when his eyes had told her things were far from over. A strong breeze fills the streets of the city around her. But it doesn't cool down her anger when she opens the door of the bar.

It's warm and humid inside. The light of candles finds its way through clouds of cigar smoke . He is sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His back is one wide wall of Monroe. She can feel the stares of the men who follow her through the bar. She ignores them and tells them to go to hell with her eyes.

She knows she should walk away with all her anger. She should let him drown in all his whiskey and misery. She should have let Texas kill him. She should have left him in New Vegas. She should walk away now. But she can't. He's close enough to touch. She knows he has heard her. He doesn't even look up.

'Why are you here, Charlotte?' His voice is rough and laced with whiskey.

Bass knows he should be more surprised she is here. But this is Charlie Matheson and she never walks away from a good fight. She has tracked him down before. He can't ignore the way his body responds to her so damn close.

The way his name rolls from his lips and into the heavy air between them, makes her heart beat faster. There is a steel burn in his eyes when he finally looks at her. But then the steel fades. She can see the loathing for himself in his eyes. She can see the longing _for her_ in his eyes.

And she thinks about his question. His words are making her cold and dizzy and even more pissed. Because she doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't even know why she's here.

It is a lie. She can see her own lie reflected in his eyes. She curses at her mind and heart, for reminding and telling her she _does_ know why she is here. She does know what she wants. And it's seeing what they are in his eyes, that makes it impossible to answer his question the way she wants to.

'Forget about it..' her voice sounds flat with sharp edges of hidden want and hurt. She looks at him one more time. She can feel his stare inside of her. She feels so much that she knows she has to walk out of the bar. She needs fresh air. She needs it now. She turns around and walks out of the bar before he can talk to her again.

* * *

When he wakes up, he has a headache from hell. His mouth is dry. The first thing his mind reminds him of when he wakes up, is _her_. He can taste her name on her lips. The rain beats against the window of his bedroom. He knows he can't fucking sleep. Not now she has walked back into his life. Not now she walked all the way to his bar to fucking find him. After she left, he had gone home and had numbed himself with more whiskey.

He gets out of his bed with a low grunt. He moves his hand over his face. He grabs his leather jacket and keys before he closes the door of his apartment behind him. And he knows he is going to fucking regret it, but he can't stay away. He has to see her.

* * *

The rain wakes her up. It's cold outside but the shiver that flows through her body has nothing to do with the cool, rainy weather. She listens to the rain and her heartbeat. But then she realizes there is a knock on her door that moves through the sound of the rain. And she knows, she knows without a doubt and with her whole heart, that he is here.

She walks to the door but she can't open it. Not yet. The heavy weight of him and her and realizing that what she had felt for him is still there is pressing heavy on her shoulders. She takes a deep breath.

When she finally opens the door, he is there. He is leaning against the doorway. He looks like hell. His hair is wet. Drops of rain move from the strong lines of his neck to his leather jacket. She can taste the scent of rain and whiskey that lingers around him.

'Jesus Monroe…..' She shakes her head, but her eyes stay connected with his.

He's still drunk. She's still angry.

He looks at her. She is only wearing a grey soft shirt and panties. She looks strong and yet at the same time, he can still see the vulnerable pieces of her heart in the way she is standing in front of him.

The anger in her eyes is taking him back to where things had started, years and a lifetime ago. He remembers how close she had been, standing in front of him with all her loathing for him in those fucking beautiful eyes of her. He had felt her warm breath against his face. He had been unable to look away from her when she told him to go to hell with her eyes before she had walked away and told him that if he wanted to stop her, he had to shoot her.

She is angry now too. It's deeper this time. It's different this time. It's even more personal this time. And he realizes that if she did not give a fuck about him, that anger would have faded by now. And it changes everything. He can't walk away. Not again. He doesn't know what the hell he is doing here. All he knows is that he needs her.

Charlie gets lost in his eyes. He is close enough to see the lines around his eyes. He is close enough to breathe in his scent. All she sees is him. All she feels is his wide, tall chest before her. She suddenly remembers how he tastes. She can almost feel his heartbeat. And his heart is so open and raw and there in front of her that she has to wrap her hands around his face the moment he moves his arm around her middle to pull her against him.

He walks them into her hotel room. His boot shuts the door behind them. There is a primal look in his eyes when he pins her against the wall behind her. His hands find the warmth of her skin under her shirt. Her hands wrap around the cool black leather of his jacket. She can feel the strong lines of his shoulders, hidden under the jacket. His hands roam over her shirt and panties. His mouth is warmth against hers. Her moan flows into his low grunt. He doesn't even take off her panties. He just moves them out of the way until he finds what he needs. His fingers move through her wet heat and soft curls. She eagerly and angrily yanks his jeans over his thighs, far enough to wrap her hands around steel and want.

He fucks her against the wall next to the door. He presses her against the wall, telling her she is still all his. She can sense it in his breathing. She can see it in the possessive look in his eyes. She wants to yell at him. She wants to punch him.

Bass can see all her hate and fire. He can taste all her want and rage. But he can't stop. He needs to fuck her. He needs to feel her body against his.

Her anger flows through her every time he thrusts deeper inside of her. But it is not enough to stop him. She should stop him. But him wanting her with his violent power, only makes her want to let Bass want to fuck her more. And she knows he knows, because he is fucking her harder.

His thrusts are deeper. His rhythm is faster. But with every deep thrust inside of her, his arm is pulling her closer. With every low moan that escapes form her lips, he kisses her harder and deeper. And she is not sure if they are fighting or fucking or destroying or finding each other.

She swore he would never kiss her again. But here he is. His mouth is warmth and his lips refuse to let her go. Before she can think about what she does and before she is able to stop herself, she buries her head in the space between his neck and strong, wide shoulder.

She can taste his deep sweat _and him_ when her mouth moves against the skin of his neck. But then she remembers her anger. She remembers it is him who is fucking her against the wall of her hotel room. She opens her eyes to look at him. To tell him this is about all her anger and everything he should not have become to her. She tries to put distance between him and her, even when he is fucking her. But then she looks up to find his eyes. And she knows it is about _them_. This is about more than anger and loathing. It's still there. All of it.

His raw, deep look of want and hurt is filling her heart and mind in the same way he keeps on filling her. And she doesn't want to let go, but she has to. Bass is giving her no other choice. Maybe his name escapes from her lips. Maybe it is just in her head. It doesn't matter because she comes in strong waves around him deep inside of her, with his groans close to her lips and with her back against the wall.

She trembles in his arms when she comes. He pulls her closer. 'Charlotte…' His drunken mind betrays him right before he comes when he is buried deep inside of her. Her name is repeating itself like the rhythm of his thrusts.

When they are both out of breath, and she is still in his arms, he looks at her. And he can finally see more than her anger. He finds what made them who they were and still are, there in her eyes. She's there and with him again. He slowly moves some hair out of her face. He swallows when she leans into his touch. He doesn't let go of her eyes. It's still raining. Her hotel room is still dark. There is a chill in the air. But he can feel the warmth of her skin and _her_ , deep inside his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to explore how they could slowly find their way to each other after season two in this story. Every chapter focuses on a different moment in their story. Last chapter was about the past, this chapter is about them and everything that is still there. I really enjoyed writing all their past, anger, lust and need in this chapter. Thank you for your kudo's and feedback for this story. I really appreciate it and I always enjoy hearing from you. Love from Love


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